She swiped eye shadow onto her lids, brushed mascara over her pale lashes, and slicked gloss over her lips. Just that made her feel a little better as she gazed at her reflection in the steamy mirror.
She took a deep, shaky breath. She was okay. She was here, she was alive, and she was with Trey. She barely knew him, but she felt safe with him.
Not that she needed a man. She could look after herself. But damn, it felt so good to have him there.
And not just for protection. Watching him sit at the table in front of his laptop, she'd studied his chest and shoulders. He said he'd lost weight, but he was still impressively muscled, his shoulders thick, biceps rounded, his pecs and abs well-defined. He had just enough dark body hair to look masculine, but not gorilla-like.
He still hadn't shaved and his dark beard gave him a dangerous look, along with those deep-set, intense eyes. Intelligent eyes, which had roved over the computer screen quickly, reading and absorbing information.
She wasso attracted to him. She was trying not to flirt, but apparently, she just couldn't help it. Even innocent remarks came out wrong. But the electricity sparking between them, the heat, that intense pull, almost made her forget she was not supposed to be having fun. She was supposed to be miserable and grieving, being punished for her sins.
She went back into the room where Trey still sat with his laptop and cell phone. He was talking to someone named Bill and scribbling notes, focused and intent, and sexy as hell.
She threw the covers up in a half-hearted attempt to make the bed. Then she wandered to the window and gazed out at the ocean, blinding and blue, the sky dotted with puffy white clouds zipping along. It must be windy.
She sighed and turned back to the room, restless and edgy. She spotted a familiar magazine provided by the hotel, advertising Rocky Harbor attractions, and grabbed it off the desk. She flopped onto the bed on her stomach, facing Trey, her feet in the air, and flipped through it while he talked.
"Okay," he said, sounding like he was wrapping up. "Thanks, man. I'm going over there now. Yeah, yeah, I'll keep you posted." He snapped his phone shut and looked at Marli.
She gazed back at him inquiringly.
"That was my partner, Bill Patterson," he said. "Former partner." A note of bitterness crept into his voice. "He gave me contact names at the LA bureau."
She nodded.
Trey stood. "I'm going to have a quick shower."
She nodded again, watched him walk into the bathroom. God, he was gorgeous. She wanted to run her hands over the smooth skin and muscle, feel how hard he was. A throbbing ache started between her legs, and she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
She pictured him naked in the shower. He'd seen her practically naked, but all she'd seen was his chest. Although his chest was delicious enough to make her mouth water. Her breasts swelled a little, nipples tight. She closed her eyes. A flood of longing wet her panties.
He was probably soaping his body up now. She knew his thighs were big, could tell from the jeans he'd worn. God, she wanted to see them, to see where they joined his hips, his groin...
With a moan, she rolled back onto her stomach and pressed her hot face into the silky cool bedspread. Her pelvis pushed into the bed instinctively. She was still lying like that, trying to control the throbbing heat, when Trey flung open the bathroom and emerged in a cloud of steam, clad only in his underwear.
She peeked at him through a veil of hair without lifting her head, watching him rummage through his suitcase wearing only a pair of snug black boxer briefs.
Oh, yeah. His thighs were big. His ass was tight. Muscles rippled as he pulled on a pair of black dress pants and the white shirt he'd been wearing the night they met. This time he tucked it in and added a sleek leather belt to the pants.
When he was dressed, she lifted her head. "You look very professional," she told him. "Very hot, but very professional."
Why had she said that? Why, why, why?
His cheeks flushed a little as he finished buckling the belt, then shoved his hands into the pockets.
"Hey, look," she said, rolling off the bed. She grabbed the magazine and moved over beside him. "Nice photo, huh?"
She folded the magazine open and displayed a glossy page advertising a local restaurant.
He looked at the photo, then at her face. "Yours?" he guessed.
She nodded, smiling. She flipped a few pages. "And this one. And...this one."
The last was a full-page advertisement for Surf Coast Brewery, featuring a huge golden dog smiling and...winking.
He grinned. "How did you get the dog to wink?"
"I winked at him...like this..." She demonstrated. "And he winked back."
Trey laughed. "Bullshit."
She laughed, too. "Okay, it was Photoshop." She studied the image. "I did a damn fine job if I do say so myself."
He looked at it again and nodded. "It looks so real." He smiled at her. "I don't know much about photography, but you're obviously good."
His compliment made her feel good. Warm. Almost happy.
Except she wasn't allowed to be happy. Her mood sank like a brick in water.
"You ready?" He grabbed his wallet, cell phone and the papers he'd scribbled notes on.
"You betcha." She picked up her purse, a big soft brown leather sack, and slung it over her shoulder. She took a deep breath. Leaving the sanctuary of Trey's hotel room was just a little scary.
Fear, however, seemed silly as they walked through the busy, bright lobby of the hotel and out into the parking lot. The sun hurt her eyes, the breeze tossed the fronds of the palm trees lining the front of the hotel and clouds scudded across the sky. The world seemed so impossibly normal.
They hit the 405, exiting a while later onto Wilshire to find the federal office building where the FBI field office was located.
"Have you been here before?" she asked him.
"Yeah. Lots of times." He parked.
They rode up the elevator.
"You can wait over there." Trey nodded to a small lounge area, going over to a security desk.
"Okay."
She wandered over. The chairs were hard chrome and vinyl, and she glanced at some ancient Time magazines. Trey disappeared down an aisle between cubicles, and she heard his voice as he greeted his colleagues and they started talking.
She sighed. They were talking about her. At least, some of it was about her. She took little comfort from being in the offices of the FBI. They sure hadn't done anything to protect her. If it weren't for Trey... Her teeth dug into her bottom lip.
An hour later Trey was still in there talking. She tossed the last Time magazine down and sighed. Tapped her fingers on the armrest of the chair. Shifted her rapidly numbing butt. What the hell was taking so long? Then she was annoyed with herself. He was trying to help her after all.
When Trey finally emerged, she jumped up and crossed over to him, so happy to see his face. She'd known the man for three days and already he was her anchor. Two other men in bad suits accompanied him.
Trey introduced her and they shook her hand. Trey didn't look all that happy. She looked from his face to the other men and back. Then he was hustling her out of the building.
"What happened?" she asked as soon as they were outside.
"Not much," he said grimly. "They did give me access to the files, but basically told me to stay out of it."
They climbed into his car and started back to the hotel.
Marli tried to sort out her confused thoughts. Trey was on a leave of absence. She didn't know the details of what had happened with his job, although an intense curiosity itched inside her, but it must have been bad. She knew he wanted to be involved in the case. Hell, he was involved now, whether he wanted to be or not, thanks to her. On the other hand, she worried for his safety as much as for her own.